


Silent Reverie

by sablier_bloque



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: deancastiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean still can't sleep because of the nightmares and it's starting to affect the job. Castiel thinks he can help Dean, and while he tries to heal Dean's soul, Dean realizes the extent of Castiel's affection for him. And just maybe Dean feels the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the deancastiel Secret Angel Exchange for ladyyueh who requested "Dean falls in love with Castiel. He's not attracted to the vessel, he falls in love with who Castiel is." It's a tiny bit angsty, but there's lots of comfort! Hope that makes up for it. Title taken from "Angel" by Sarah Mclachlan. A million hugs to both dancinbutterfly and wie_gehts for holding my hand every step of the way, and also kisses to wie_gehts for beta-ing.

Sam won’t stop looking at him.

He thinks that Dean doesn’t notice, but every time Dean looks over to the passenger side, Sam startles and averts his eyes to study the dark road ahead. Dean is tempted to ask him what the hell his problem is, but Dean is over Sharing and Caring Time, thank you very much. Plus he probably has a pretty good guess as to what the answer is.

The more time that passes, the more Dean feels like it was a tremendously bad idea to tell Sam about what happened. It was bad enough the first time, telling Sam what he did in hell, but then he told him that he… that he _enjoyed_ it. He knows that Sam is internally flipping his shit over what Dean told him. Sammy has a dark side that neither of them can deny, not with Azazel’s blood pumping hot and fast in his veins, but even his psychic business can’t compare to what Dean did.

He knows that Sam’s trying – _It was hell, Dean. You weren’t human, Dean. Dean… come on, man, you can’t blame yourself for what that place did to you_. But there’s no chance of getting over it when he can’t even close his eyes without picturing it; hearing the screams and cries of agony and despair. Sleep is infrequent and short and he hates to admit it, but it’s starting to affect his work. And even if he refused to admit it, the sutured knife wound on his side and Sam’s incessant worrying is doing it for him.

Dean blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to focus them and trying not to let himself fall asleep. He doesn’t even realize he’s veering onto the shoulder until the grooves of the road against the tires makes a jarring sound that makes him jump.

“Dude,” Sam says, “You’re tired. I’m tired. Let’s stop for the night, or even a couple of days. We’ve been going nonstop lately and we both need the rest.”

Dean doesn’t want to stop now, and he certainly doesn’t want to stop for a couple of days. They have seals and people to protect from the forces of hell, so stopping seems pretty trivial in the scheme of things. But his body sure as hell needs about 20 hours of unadulterated and uninterrupted sleep so that it can heal and so that he can see and think straight.

He swings the car to the right, cutting a little too close to the vehicle in the right lane, but he makes the exit that boasts of a couple of motels just in time.

“I get the bed next to the AC.”

“When do you not?”

///

 _”Come on, Dean, you know how to make this stop – how to make it all better. You just have to say yes. I’ve got all of these souls here… too many for me to personally deal with, and you, well, your daddy taught you to fight, didn’t he? You were_ born _to do this, Dean.”_

 _He has said no every time. He has lost track of how long he’s been here – years and years he’s sure, and he wonders if Sammy stopped hunting and went back to school; if he got himself a pretty wife and two little girls, who might even be in college now. Dean can’t remember when he got here. Or maybe, Sammy turned into John, caring about nothing except the hunt, about revenge, getting himself killed over something stupid._

 _“John?” Alistair laughs in his face. “You think he turned into John? Luck doesn’t exist in hell, Dean.” He bends down, his lips almost touching Dean’s ear. “Try Antichrist.”_

 _The shock of pain that hits his chest is almost worse than all of the months – years? Fuck, he just doesn’t know – he’s been tortured and mutilated. Dean tries to tell himself the words he has told Sammy dozens of times,_ "Demons lie," _but it's not offering any comfort. There's no comfort here._

 _“And it’s 30 years, since you wanted to know,” he smirks as he stands over him, and then offers his hand. “Are you ready, Dean? I’ve got souls waiting on you.”_

Dean’s body spasms, deep breathes burning his lungs, and sweat soaking through his t-shirt. There’s a dip in the bed as someone sits next to him, and he grabs his knife even though he’s sure it’s Sam.

“Dean.”

That isn’t Sam, and the voice sounds familiar but Dean is too fucking tired to place it. He brings the knife in front of him, blade pointed toward the stranger, before he sees the silhouette in the darkness. Short, disheveled hair that creates rounded spikes at the front, and the outline of what looks like a trench coat.

“Cas?”

Castiel answers with a nod.

Dean lowers his knife and slides it back under the two pillows from his own bed and the one he stole from Sam’s. He waits for Castiel to speak, to say why he is there, but the only sounds in the room are the Winchesters breathing and the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Which makes Dean wonder – do angels breathe? Does Castiel breathe within his vessel and if he does, is it because the vessel needs it or because he does? Dean thinks about this shit all of the time, because the idea of possession still freaks him out if he’s honest with himself. And also because he tries to think of meaningless, albeit mind-boggling stuff to keep his mind off of less pleasant thoughts.

A few minutes have passed now and Castiel still has not said anything. From the way his head is angled in the darkness, Dean assumes Castiel is staring at him, which Dean catches him doing often when they’re together. Though, unlike Sam, he never looks away.

“Is there a reason you’re here? I was sleeping.”

“Were you?” Castiel asks, accusation thick in his voice that reveals that he knows about Dean’s dreams.

Dean rolls his eyes and scoots backwards so that he can rest against the headboard.

“Where’s your friend?” Dean asks, and he cracks a smile, thinking about that game he and Sam used to play when they were both teenagers where they would only talk in questions. Three questions in, and Sammy would have caught on, but Castiel would have no idea.

“He is doing the work of the Lord.”

“And you’re not?”

“I am,” Castiel answers with a nod.

“I didn’t know that voyeur was in an angel’s job description.”

“Watching people is a very important part of our job.”

“That gets you in trouble though, doesn’t it?” Dean smirks. “Watching us makes you want what we have. Makes you want to _feel_ … just like Anna.”

“Anna was essential to our ranks – a great sister to all of us – and it is unfortunate that she fell for humanity.”

Dean gets up, shucking off his damp shirt and grabs the silver flask from his bag.

“Was it because of a human?” he asks as he sits back down on the bed.

“It often is.”

“Did you ever want to…” Dean waves the flask in his hand to signify the end of his question before bringing it to his lips.

“Alcohol won’t bring the sleep you need.”

“Yeah, well, it’s all I’ve got right now,” Dean whispers. He takes another drink, warm and burning liquid sliding down his throat and he resists grimacing because Winchesters don’t grimace when taking shots.

“The Lord has forgiven you Dean, and that is all that matters. You can forgive yourself.”

“And you know how much his opinion matters to me.” He sees the silhouette of Castiel’s head turn away, and yeah, Dean’s less than praising comments about God probably don’t help Cas sleep at night, but he really doesn’t give a shit.

“God’s opinion got you out of hell,” Castiel whispers so quietly and gravely that Dean can barely hear it.

“Being out of the pit is going real great so far, isn’t it? I was brought back because I supposedly have work to do, but what the fuck is it? 34 seals already and I – I’m just a hunter, Cas. Yeah, I go after monsters and demons, but the one demon we’ve got to kill is too smart for you guys, let alone Sammy and me.”

“So it is just not your guilt about hell that keeps you awake at night?” Castiel’s head is facing him again, and Dean knows that if he could see his face, those blue eyes would be piercing right through Dean just like his question. Dean looks down and closes his flask before setting it on the nightstand.

“You told me at Halloween that I had a lot of decisions to make ahead. ‘I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean.’ I haven’t done anything; we’re just cruising along, doing normal hunts like the apocalypse isn’t right behind us. I just don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I still don’t get why I’m here – why I’m back on earth.”

Dean expects a “God knows the plans He has for us” or a “God works in mysterious ways,” but he gets neither. They sit in silence as minutes tick by on the red-numbered digital clock, and Dean expects it to be awkward as hell but it just… isn’t.

“Castiel,” Dean says, not even knowing why he does. Then the angel reaches across him and places his hand against the scar left from pulling him out of hell. “Cas, what are you—”

“Sleep, Dean Winchester.”

///

Dean wakes up to someone shaking his body, and by how forcefully he’s being shoved, he’s either slow to wake up or something is seriously wrong.

“Dude, _what_?” Dean groans, and yeah, he sounds like a little bitch, but he was sleeping, damn it.

“It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, man. I’m just making sure you’re still alive.” Dean’s eyes are still closed but he feels Sam sit down next to him. He yawns, wanting to stretch but the stitches in his side would hurt too fucking much.

“Wait, 3:30?” Dean asks, finally opening his eyes to look at his brother.

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” His body actually feels _rested_ for the first time since he has been topside, and Jesus, when did he go to sleep last night? He tries to remember the time he and Sammy said lights out, and his mind brings him back to his midnight rendezvous with a certain angel.

“What?” Sam asks, and there must be some look on Dean’s face that makes him curious.

“Nothing,” Dean replies, because that meeting was just… weird, man, and there is no way he is going to try to explain that one to Sam.

How long was Castiel there, watching him while he slept? Even more important, is this a common occurrence? Dean called him a voyeur, and he didn’t even fucking deny it.

“I guess Jim Beam actually helped you sleep for once,” Sam remarks as his eyes flicker to Dean’s flask on the nightstand.

“Jack and Jim never let me down, man.” He picks up the flask just to have something in his hands and he idly twists its cap on and off.

“Right,” Sam says in that pissy little voice of his that says he knows Dean can’t sleep worth shit lately with Jack or Jim or even Jose along for the ride.

“You find us a job yet?” Dean asks mostly to change the subject, although he is curious.

“I thought we were camping out for a couple of days.”

“And do what? Sit here and braid each other’s hair while watching _Sleepless in Seattle_? Let’s hit the road.” He sits up quickly and instantly regrets it, because he feels at least two stitches pop open on his side. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re going to hunt like that. Jesus, Dean, you’re bleeding again.” Sam stands and head towards the bathroom. “Come on, clean up so I can fix your stitches.”

“I can do it,” Dean grumbles, even though he stands up slowly to follow his brother.

“That’s too awkward of an angle to do yourself. Just come on.”

///

It ended up being five stitches with Sam fussing over him like a fucking mother hen. Dean doesn’t understand how he can be such a girl sometimes. Sam makes Dean promise that they’ll stay at least (at most) two more days so that they can heal up before going after their next hunt (which Sam doesn’t know that Dean already has one in mind).

His wound obviously smarts pretty badly, but the rest of his body actually feels good and comfortable, and though he won’t admit it, it is nice just to lie in bed and watch bad movies. He guesses whatever mojo Castiel worked last night actually helped. He usually only sees the angel every couple of weeks, so next time he comes around, maybe Dean will thank him. Maybe.

At around 9:30, there’s a knock on the door, and both Dean and Sam reach for their .45s before Dean heads to look out the peephole.

“What the fuck?” Dean asks as he opens the door. Ruby is standing there with her arms crossed, looking bored out of her mind as usual. Of course, if Dean had to deal with Ruby 24/7, he’d be pretty bored himself.

“Nice to see you too, Dean,” she bites back as she looks at the threshold lined with salt.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, and he moves his foot to disrupt the line.

“Nah, man, don’t worry about it,” Sam says as he stands and grabs his coat. “I’ll just leave with her.”

“What?” Dean asks, because, seriously? Is he actually being open about his… relations with the demon?

“Don’t wait up,” Sam says grinning and Dean scowls.

“Disgusting, man,” he calls to the closing door. Normally Dean is all for his little brother getting some action because God knows he doesn’t get it enough and that’s why he’s a tight ass all of the time. But first of all, it’s a _demon_ , and second of all, Dean isn’t getting any because there’s no way his sutures could handle it.

Dean has two slices left of the large pizza he got earlier so he grabs the box and sits it on the bed. The six-pack of beer on the table is warm now, but he pops one open anyways before sitting down and leaning against the headboard. _Se7en_ started on TNT about 30 minutes ago. Sam never really liked this movie, which Dean just doesn’t understand because it’s awesome and Spacey’s a genius in it. But that’s probably why Sam didn’t laugh at all of his “What’s in the box?” jokes when they were up against the Seven Deadly Demons.

God, those demons were a bitch to round up and exorcize. And then – and then when he had to see them again…

 _”Oh, Dean, you used to be so pretty. Do you remember? That short jolt of pride you got when you looked in the mirror, because, fuck, you looked amazing. What girl wouldn’t want to tap that, right? Would you have given me a chance if I were in a girl’s meat instead of a man’s? We could have gone for it before you sent me back to hell._

 _“And you didn’t just think you were the best looking hunter around, you thought the Winchesters were the best hunters around period. You were second only to John, right? Because you were raised to fight all of those evil things. Daddy gave you a gun when you were six years old; you killed your first werewolf at 12, and what other hunter can say that?_

 _“Ha, I even bet you thought you were good enough to give Lilith a run for her money. Who can go against Dean Winchester and live to tell the tale? Well, I guess you were wrong, Dean._

 _“Haven’t you ever heard that pride goes before the fall?”_

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, and he blinks his eyes rapidly as if that will get rid of the image and the sounds out of his head. And he tries so hard not to think of the rest of Pride’s six companions who also had a go at him, and every single demon he has ever exorcized who waited in a line to tear him to shreds.

Thank God that Sammy’s not here, because he feels like a total chick right now with tears threatening to spill at any moment. The TV turns off and Dean looks up to see Castiel standing at the open door.

“Dude, two nights in a row?” Dean asks, plastering a smirk on his face. “I’m more of a one-night-stand kind of guy. Two nights mean roses and chocolates and shit, and I’m not willing to go there with you.”

Castiel does not reply, and simply walks in while Dean watches the door close behind him. The angel steps to the foot of the bed and just looks at Dean for what seems like an eternity.

“Dean, you were not brought out of hell for your mind to remain there.”

“You know what, Cas? You can knock me out so that I sleep for 13 hours and you can tell me that I’m forgiven and you can tell me to stop thinking about it, but I can’t. I was in hell longer than I’ve been on earth. You don’t just forget that.” Dean stands up because he just needs to do _something_. He throws the pizza box back on the table and walks past Castiel toward the bathroom. Dean bends over the small porcelain sink and splashes his face with cool water before drying his face on the small towel that was left on the counter.

“So you did sleep well last night?” Castiel asks, and it makes Dean feel like an asshole because he knows that Castiel is just trying to look out for him.

“Yeah, I did,” he says, coming back into the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Thanks.” Castiel is two feet away from him, and it’s awkward as hell with him just standing there, looking down on him. “You can sit.” The angel sits next to him, but they both look at the wall in front of them instead of each other.

“Look,” Dean pauses because he hates apologies and he really doesn’t want to do this. “I’m sorry for being such a dick lately. The dreams and the seals and this stupid wound… it just adds up.”

“You do not have to apologize, Dean. You are already forgiven.”

“By you, or by God? ‘Cause only one is important right now.”

“I hold no grudges against you,” the angel whispers, as he turns to face Dean, his blue eyes so bright and startling that Dean can’t help to look into them. “Dean,” he starts and then looks down.

“Hm?”

“I think I may be able to help you.”

“Help me…?”

“Heal.”

“Really?” Dean asks, and he takes off his shirt and peels away his bandage. “Because that’d be really fucking awesome. I’ve already got a hunt lined up, but I promised Sammy I’d wait for this to heal some. Dude, I didn’t know that angels could heal people. That’s pretty badass, Cas.”

“No, Dean, you misunderstand me.” Castiel furrows his brows as if he is trying to find the best way to phrase his real meaning. “It is your _soul_ ,” he says as his palm moves to rest against Dean’s heart, “that needs to heal.”

Dean looks down at the hand on his chest, feeling a bit surprised because Castiel has never been the touchy-feely type. He will stare at you like there is nothing else on the earth to look at, but, with the exception of last night (and Hell, of course), Castiel has never actually touched him. Dean’s eyes turn towards Castiel’s face and the angel’s hand falls back to his side.

“My soul, huh?”

“You know more than I how broken it is. We have a long, dangerous battle ahead, and the Lord needs you able-bodied to help us win this. Your broken soul will be your downfall, Dean, and you were not taken from death to fall to it again.”

Dean wants to argue. He wants to say he can fight just fine, thank you, but Castiel’s got an eyeful of the nasty wound on his side, and he would have never gotten it if he were back to his old self.

“So what’s the plan, angel?” He sounds apprehensive, because, well, he is. He has no idea what the fuck Castiel is about to do. He thinks of Anna and her blood magic, and a small shudder wracks his body.

“To be honest, Dean, I am not entirely sure that this will work. It’s just an idea that I have.” Castiel sounds so unsure, and though he told Dean after Samhain that he sometimes has doubts, it’s a weird sound coming from an angel of the Lord.

“Well, we’re not going to get anywhere having a powwow about it.”

Castiel nods and his right hand moves to Dean’s shoulder, fitting perfectly over the scar that still looks bright and angry though it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Close your eyes,” Castiel commands quietly and Dean obeys him. He expects peace to wash over him or some other New Age bullshit to happen, but they sit like that for a good two minutes without anything happening.

“Cas, man, nothing—”

The angel silences him with a finger to his lips and Dean lowers his head and fights the urge to peek.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, he doesn’t want to be back here. He forgot about this, about this soul, this soul who knew his name._

 _“Please, Dean, please. Dean, I don’t deserve to be here. I didn’t mean to make the deal! She tricked me. Dean, Dean, please!”_

 _Dean doesn’t know how the soul knows his name, but he doesn’t stop. No amount of begging has ever made him stop, and he’s not going to now._

 _He hears screaming, different than the cries of the countless souls on the racks. No, these are demons screaming, and it is not a noise Dean is used to hearing. He moves away from the soul, and he hears it cry in relief – “Oh, thank—” but the soul cannot finish it because that name cannot be spoken here._

 _Dean turns around and instantly feels a sickness in his gut. A figure moves toward him, light shining from him that is so bright and clear and holy and Dean can’t take it. And he realizes instantly… what he is becoming… what he has become. His eyes are probably black as night and a few choice words in Latin should probably be his biggest fear right now. How did he get here? How did he let himself become this?_

 _Each step that the figure takes towards him makes him feel more and more disgusted, and it hurts to look at such pure beauty but he cannot tear his eyes away. He doesn’t want the rack anymore; this being is what he wants. He is salvation and he is forgiveness, and, fuck, that is all he wants._

 _“Please,” he hears himself whisper as he falls to his knees. His voice sounds so… human and foreign and so much like it used to 50 years ago._

 _“Dean Winchester,” the being, the_ angel _, because Dean feels it in his gut that that is what he is, kneels down so that they are level with one another. He is a mere six inches away, but all Dean can see is sweet and beautiful light. The angel places a hand on his shoulder, and it burns, pain ripping through his skin that travels deep down to his soul. “The Lord has called you back to his creation.”_

Dean feels sweet, cool air against his skin, so soothing compared to the excruciating heat of hell. Tendrils of warmth move from the hand on his shoulder and into his body, and that New Age stuff he was bashing before doesn’t seem so bad now. His eyes are still closed, but he can see Castiel like he did in hell, the clearest white light he has ever seen that just baffles his mind because it’s so fucking beautiful.

“Cas,” he whispers, voice hoarse and betraying just how weak he feels right now. He tilts his head up because he has to see if Castiel looks the same in the hotel room as he does with this freaky connection they have. Castiel brings his left hand to Dean’s eyes and tilts his head back down.

“Not yet, Dean. You’ll break it.” But he has to break it, because this bond between them is just too much. It’s so pure and right, and Castiel’s right, he’s _broken,_ and Castiel’s hand on his scar soothes but also aches against the shattered pieces.

He opens his eyes and both he and the angel inhale with loud gasps, and Dean feels his heart pounding in his chest. Dean looks to Castiel and sees that his eyes are closed, his head turned downward while his hand still rests on Dean’s shoulder. Dean expected that Castiel was watching him the entire time, since he knew that Dean was going to open his eyes, but it seems that he was not looking either.

“Was that your true form?” The words spill from his lips before he even thinks them. Castiel finally lifts his head and licks his lips before removing his hand from the scar.

“Partly. I veiled myself. I didn’t want to hurt you. I already tried to reveal myself twice and, well, you know how well that went.”

Dean nods and smiles because Castiel actually cracked a joke.

“So what the hell just happened?” His body feels warm and his muscles feel flimsy like they do after a good run or a day of sparring practice with Sam.

“There are not a lot of people who have been pulled from perdition – half a dozen since Lucifer fell from Heaven and the pit was created. Those people were all taken out almost immediately, but you had been there for a while. Your soul belonged to Lilith, and it was only a matter of time. You had already started to…”

“Become a demon,” Dean states, finishing the words that Castiel obviously does not want to confess.

Castiel nods. “I was unsure if I could bring you back like that. I know that my Father is omniscient, but I was unsure if he was aware of what you were starting to become. You were so willing and desperate to be freed, but I feared that Hell’s influence would still be upon you when you came back to earth. So when I grabbed you,” he stops, and once again touches Dean’s shoulder, “I let my Grace touch you.”

“So that’s why it burned like hell.” Dean makes a face because that pun was so not intended. Castiel must catch it because he gives a soft laugh.

“Probably, yes,” Castiel answers and removes his hand.

“Does this make you and me like Sam and Yellow Eyes?”

“You do not have angel blood, if that is what you mean, but as you’re well aware, there is a connection there.”

Dean watches Castiel play with the hem of his trench coat, and it just seems like such a _human_ gesture: idle hands needing to keep busy.

“Do you feel okay?” Castiel asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Yeah, I do.”

///

Four days later, Dean’s still got his stitches, but the wound is healing up pretty nicely. They are about twenty minutes away from Bobby’s house, and Sam is driving. Dean loves the road – loves his baby too, but sometimes it’s nice to just kick it in the passenger seat.

Or the back seat.

God, that backseat houses some fine memories. He remembers the first time he was with a girl in the Impala – Jennifer Williams in the eleventh grade. Dad gave him the car for his seventeenth birthday, because even though John loved it, he knew that Dean loved it more. Sam always says it is because the Impala is the only home they’ve ever known, and while that may be true, that’s just a little too sappy for him to admit.

Normally Sam at the wheel means Dean sleeping, or since he’s been back from the pit, attempting to sleep. He and Castiel haven’t done their freaky “healing” connection thing since that night, but he’s had dreamless sleep ever since, and he guesses that Castiel’s been knocking him out like he did the first night. Dean sort of wishes that he would have said, “Hi,” or, “I’m forcing your body to sleep now. ‘Night!” But of course, that isn’t exactly Castiel’s style.

They pull into Singer Salvage, the Impala kicking up clouds of dust thick enough to see even though the sun is almost set. Dean wrinkles his nose because he’s going to have to wash the car before they leave. It is going to be filthy.

Bobby is waiting for them on the front porch, two bottles of beer waiting on the railing as he takes a sip of his own. Dean wonders why Bobby still plays the holy-water-in-the-beer card when it’s obvious that he and Seam can’t be possessed. But as Bobby always says: “Can’t be to careful.”

Bobby cleaned out the inventory of a local gun and ammo shop that shut down last week, and he called Sam and Dean two days ago saying that they could come and help themselves. Sam told him that they had a hunt planned, and then they would head over, but Bobby told them some other hunter had gotten to it first. So he and Sam packed up the car and hit the road. There’s no way that Dean would pass up the opportunity for some new (and free) artillery.

They follow Bobby into the house, drinks in hand, and Bobby immediately takes them to the basement to show them the new stuff. Dean’s eyes widen the second they hit the room, because Jesus, that’s a lot of guns.

“Hunter?” Dean asks as he picks up a salt round.

“No, but he supplied a few of us. Like I said, help yourselves to whatever you want. I don’t hunt as much as you do, and I’m pretty much stocked anyways.”

Dean and Sam bring up cases of bullets and rounds, both salt and regular, and stuff them in the trunk of the car. It’s dark by the time they finish and Dean is in desperate need of some food.

“Where do you want to eat?” Dean asks as he and Sam go back into the house.

“Dinner’s on the stove if you want some,” Bobby calls from the kitchen and, fuck yes, Dean wants some because surprisingly, Bobby is a pretty good cook and Dean can’t even remember the last time he ate home-cooked food. Dean has five bowls of chili, which, yeah, it’s a little too much and his stomach is going to hate him later, but fuck, Bobby’s chili is amazing.

Dean helps Bobby clean up their mess, and by the time he steps into the living room, Sam is sound asleep on the couch, still wearing his clothes and boots. Dean throws a blanket on the blow-up mattress Bobby left out for him and heads back into the kitchen.

“Sam’s already asleep.”

“He doesn’t drive as much as you, so he’s probably exhausted.”

“Hey, Bobby?” Dean grabs a beer from the fridge and leans against the counter.

“Yeah?”

“Do you still have those books on angels that we looked at that with the witnesses?”

“Sure. You want them now?”

“That’d be awesome.”

“Alright, I’ll bring them in here for you so you don’t wake up Sam,” Bobby says before heading into the other room.

Dean sits down at the small oak table and idly plays with the paper wrapper of the bottle. He remembers some girl in high school telling him that playing with the wrapper means you’re sexually frustrated, but Dean always thought that was one of the dumbest things he has ever heard.

Bobby comes in with five books in his arms and stops and looks at Dean.

“You know what they say about playing with the wrapper.”

“You too? Just give me the damn books.”

Bobby puts them on the table and sits down next to him.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” Bobby asks as he hands Dean the first book.

Yeah, he wants to know how this connection works. He wants to know how he was touched by an angel’s _Grace_ , but there’s no way he’s divulging that to Bobby.

“I guess you could just point me in the direction of angels bringing humans topside.”

Bobby pulls another book from the stack and immediately goes to the page he showed Dean before.

“I had it bookmarked in case we would need it again.” He hands the open book to Dean and opens his mouth to say something, but closes it.

“What?” Dean asks.

“So this angel…”

“Castiel.”

“Yeah. Do you ever see him?”

“Every once in a while,” Dean says, hoping that trademark Winchester skill of deceit shines through. He’s pretty sure that Bobby would be bothered by his nightly visits from his guardian angel.

“What does he say to you?”

Jesus, what’s with the all of the questions?

“Mostly he likes to just keep me informed about how shitty the good guys are doing,” Dean replies. “Angels dying, Seals breaking. We’re up to 34 fucking seals already.”

Bobby whistles at the number. “Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

“Has he ever given you the reason why you were pulled from Hell?”

“No,” Dean answers truthfully. He runs his hand over his eyes and sighs. “I wish he would though.”

“I think we all do,” Bobby says, standing and throwing Dean’s empty bottle in the trash. “I’m hitting the hay. Try to get some sleep, will ya?” Bobby says it with so much meaning behind it that Dean knows Sam has been telling him about his dreams.

“You too, Bobby.” Dean looks down at the picture of the angel saving someone from hell, and though the picture doesn’t resemble the real thing at all, Dean can’t help but think about what Castiel showed him. His mind keeps going to the anguish he felt by looking at him, but he just couldn’t tear his eyes away. He needed Castiel and the forgiveness and light that he offered.

He searches through the books for a couple of hours and doesn’t find a single fucking thing about a human being touched by Grace. He closes the book and coughs when a cloud of dust flies into his face.

“Find anything?”

Dean jumps a little and sees Castiel standing by the sink.

“Fuck, you scared me.” Dean turns to face him. “And no, I didn’t find anything.”

“You won’t,” Castiel says as he takes a step forward. “This has never happened before.”

“You can’t tell me that with thousands of years of people and angels roaming this earth, that this has never happened before.”

“You were not on earth when our connection was made.”

 _Touché_ , Castiel.

“You can sit, you know.” Dean kicks the other chair out from the table and Castiel sits down in front of him. “So, have you been giving me supernatural sleeping pills the past couple of nights?”

“Yes.”

“You could have said hi or something. Or maybe let me know that you’re fucking with my mind.” Dean really shouldn’t bitch, because Castiel is just trying to help and the amount of sleep he has had lately has been awesome, but it’s the principle.

“I did not have time, Dean. I could only come in to put you to sleep, and then I had to go back to my duties.”

Dean really looks at Castiel for the first time and something seems a bit off with him. His vessel seems perfectly fine, but there’s something under the surface, beneath the skin of the vessel that just doesn’t sit well with him. Castiel always knows what is going on with Dean, and he wonders if that’s all angel or if it’s partly their connection.

He closes his eyes, thinking of what happened the other night, thinking of the link between them – how everything flowed from the hand on his shoulder. But Castiel doesn’t have a scar to portray their history and bind them together. So Dean reaches with his mind, his heart, searching for the real being underneath the human vessel. His head starts to hurt from trying so hard, but he’s not giving up. Castiel must know what he’s trying to do and makes no effort to stop him or guide him.

He finally feels rather than sees; a soothing warmth like he did before, except this time its muted and pained.

“God, Cas, you’re hurt.” Dean opens his eyes and sees the angel staring at him. “What happened?”

Castiel sighs. “A lot of demons at once. You know our warfare is… supernatural.” He opens his trench coat and glances at his body. “We do not care to harm each others’ vessels because that is not important.”

Dean shakes his head. “That’s so weird, man.”

“What?”

“I don’t know… that this body isn’t you. At all. Humans consider body and spirit to be apart of the same thing. This skin is mine and it’s apart of me. Don’t you ever wish you could just shed the skin and walk around in all your angelic glory?”

“It is not important to our cause.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of the _cause_? You’re like a fucking robot, don’t you ever just want to _live_?”

“I am an angel of the Lord, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is serious and low. “My sole purpose is to fight for the cause.”

“You have to want more than that.” Because Dean would. He fights the good fight, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t crave beer or good food or a good lay. Is that really just a human emotion to want more?

Castiel closes his eyes and does not give an answer.

“Do you ever wish that I could see the real you?” Dean asks and, _whoa_ , where the fuck did that come from? He doesn’t expect an answer, because it’s a weird and personal question, and Castiel never gives straight answers anyways.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers immediately, almost sounding pained and desperate, and he opens his eyes and looks straight into Dean’s.

Dean shivers, and his own reaction shocks the hell out of him.

“Cas.” So this is the one thing Castiel wants? For Dean to see his true being? He remembers Uriel speaking to him in his dream: _Castiel_ likes _you_. Dean licks his lips. “We can try.”

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” Castiel says, but Dean can tell he’s desperate to show him by the way his body leans forward and energy comes off of him in strong waves.

“Come on, man. Show me.” Dean tries not to smirk as the “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” joke pops into his head.

“We should probably go outside for this to get away from the windows.”

“Okay, yeah,” Deans replies. Castiel walks out the door and Dean follows him until they’re a couple of hundred feet from the house.

“Look at me,” the angel says and Dean brings his eyes to Castiel’s. “Cover your eyes if it gets to be too much for you, and you have to tell me in case I don’t realize.”

Dean nods, but doesn’t take his eyes away. Dean can see in his peripheral that Castiel’s skin is starting to glow and that light is coming from beneath the vessel’s skin.

“Promise me, Dean, that you’ll tell me.”

“I promise.” The words are hard to get out because, God, this is just amazing. He tears his eyes from Castiel’s and looks at the body. The light is brightening now, pushing past his skin and it almost looks like what Castiel showed him the other night, except this vision is more defined: It is not just an outline of light, no, Dean starts to make out the lines of his face, and his eyes… they’re even more intense than the ones that pierce from his vessel.

“Can I…” Dean licks his lips. “Can I see your wings?” He doesn’t even know why he asks, but he thinks it has to be the most amazing thing about an angel’s true form, and he knows Castiel wants to show him.

“Yes,” Castiel answers, his true voice breaking through slightly. It hurts Dean’s ears a little, but not nearly enough to tell him to stop.

Castiel gets brighter and brighter, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes trained. He starts to see movement at Castiel’s back, but fuck, it’s just too hard to look. He tries to hold on as long as he can but it’s hurting all over, and it’s too much for his human form to take. He shields his eyes with his arm and ducks his head.

“Cas, stop, stop. No more, please.” Dean hadn’t even noticed the ringing until it stops, and he realizes it was much quieter than it was when Castiel had tried this before. The night is completely silent but he’s unsure if he can look yet. “Is it okay?”

“Yes, Dean.” The voice is all human again, and it sounds rough and hoarse.

Dean falls to his knees onto the damp ground, too weak to hold himself up. He doesn’t think he has ever been this tired.

“Dean?” He feels Castiel kneel beside him and put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… sleep. Need to sleep.”

“Okay, come on.” Castiel’s hands grab his shoulders, hauling him up in a way that no human could do. He moves Dean’s arm around his neck and starts walking them toward the house, but Dean only makes a few steps before falling again.

“Cas, I’m just going to sleep here or something. No way I’m making that walk to the house.”

“No, you’re not.” The angel picks him up again, this time lifting him into his arms like Dean is a 90-pound girl and continues walking.

“Dude,” Dean protests, pushing his hand against Castiel’s chest but he’s just too tired. Whatever, it’s not like anyone’s going to see. “This is the gayest thing I’ve ever done.” He hears Castiel laugh, and really, it’s such a nice sound that he rarely ever hears that it makes him smile a little too. “Why don’t angels ever laugh?”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, but that’s like, the… second time I’ve heard it.” Dean’s speech is slow because his body just aches with exhaustion.

“Laughing seems unfair with a battle going on around us.”

“Nothing wrong with having a good time.”

They enter the house through the kitchen door and Dean figures that the door probably opened with a little bit of angel power. Castiel leans down on the floor and places him on the bed.

“If you tell Sammy about this—”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.” Dean curls into the mattress. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“If you whammied the door open, couldn’t you have just blinked us in here or something?”

Castiel doesn’t give him an answer. He just touches Dean’s shoulder, and Dean thinks he feels Castiel move his thumb slightly over the skin.

“Good night, Dean.”

///

Dean wakes up to hushed whispers coming from the kitchen and the smell of bacon and coffee in the air. His watch says 10 o’clock, which isn’t late at all by normal Winchester standards, let alone after the sleep needed because of last night. He doesn’t feel tired at all though.

“Morning,” he says as he walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table.

“Hey,” Sam replies, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean grabs the newspaper from Bobby when he brings it in and he turns straight to the obits. Sam sets two mugs on the table and sits in the same seat Castiel sat the night before.

“You alright, man?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just… for months you’ve been waking me up screaming at night, and all of the sudden you’re fine. Which is great, man, don’t get me wrong, but it’s kind of weird.”

Dean shrugs. “That new pain medicine we got is awesome.” Both Sam and Bobby give him a look that says they don’t believe him, but thankfully they don’t push it.

They eat breakfast – eggs, bacon, and biscuits, and Dean eats more bacon than Bobby and Sam combined which gets him another bitchy look from Sam. Dean just ignores him though and looks over the paper.

“Find anything?” Sam asks as he puts their plates in the sink.

“Nothing in this area. You want to check it out on your laptop? I’m going to jump in the shower.”

“Sure. We heading out today?”

“If we can find a hunt, yeah.”

“You boys can stay here longer if you want,” Bobby calls out as Dean grabs his duffle from the living room.

“Thanks, Bobby, but we haven’t had a hunt in almost a week. I’m getting antsy.”

Dean goes into the bathroom and turns on the shower before throwing his clothes on the ground. He goes to grab a towel from the cabinet next to the mirror, and he catches sight of the handprint on his shoulder. It’s still angry and red, as if Dean was just touched by a burning hand two minutes ago, but it doesn’t hurt at all. He covers it with his own right hand, his larger palm and fingers completely covering the scar.

 _“I let my Grace touch you.”_

After looking at the books and talking to Castiel, he is still unsure what that means for him, for _them_.

He steps into the shower, hot water stinging his wound as it hits his skin but soothing the small ache in his shoulders from sleeping on an air mattress. He leans his left hand on the tile next to the showerhead and closes his eyes as the water runs over his head.

He thinks about the night before, he and Castiel standing outside and a cool breeze moving against his skin. He remembers Castiel’s revelation, the way Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from his body, from the light, and how he _almost_ saw Castiel’s wings. Dean can’t help but imagine what they would have been like: whether or not the glimpse he saw when they met was just a shadow or if they really are black.

He likes that thought: Angel of the Lord, mighty and powerful for the good side, with wings blacker than the night, blacker than a demon’s eyes.

 _Blacker than what yours used to be_ , he thinks, but no. No. Dean can’t think like that, because he’s getting over this. He’s healing, if not for himself, then for Sam, because Sam needs him right now. And, yeah, he’s doing it for Castiel too.

He can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Castiel had fully revealed himself. Dean can see it: the light brighter and more intense, his black wings opening to their full span before resting behind his back. Dean walks towards him, his right hand immediately moving to the top ridge of Castiel’s left wing and tracing its outline with his palm. He thinks about his hand sliding lower, fingers brushing against dark, thick feathers and Castiel… shivering against him. _Shivering_.

Fuck, that’s not where Dean was meaning to take this at all. He was just trying to think of good things to take his mind off of his dreams, but his cock is hardening at the thought of Castiel reacting that way towards him. His hand grips his dick, sliding slowly toward the tip, but no, he can’t do this. This is worse than Sam fucking a demon. This is an _angel_ , and it’s not even a fallen one who is blemished by humanity.

He tries to think of that girl, Ginger, who, two weeks ago, was so thankful that he saved her from that werewolf that she gave him a thank-you-kindly blow job. Then he thinks of Anna, sitting on his lap and riding his dick while his hands clutch at her thighs. But Castiel is what his mind wants, standing in front of him, his true form radiant and warm against his skin; Castiel jerking Dean’s cock slowly as Dean continues to run his hands through the feathers of Castiel’s wings. He can hear Castiel moaning, low whines that are powerful as his true force breaks through. He hears “Dean,” rough and low as though he was standing right there in the shower with him, and Dean comes slowly but strongly, like after a nice, slow fuck in the afternoon sun. He watches the drops of come wash down the drain and he hits the tiled wall with his fist.

This is seriously fucked up.

///

Sam and Dean are halfway to Beulah, North Dakota, and once again, Sam won’t stop looking at him. At first, Dean just ignores him, and bangs his head to the Led Zeppelin coming through the speakers, but it’s starting to drive Dean up the wall. Sam and his little venture in the shower have him feeling a bit off kilter.

“What, Sam, what?” He finally asks, turning the music down.

Sam shrugs. “What?”

“You’re doing that thing where you’re looking at me, and you’re thinking so loud it’s hurting my head, so what is it? What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re actually sleeping all of the sudden, which is awesome, Dean, for both of us, but it’s weird. And the whole angel thing used to freak you out, but I wake up this morning, and every book that Bobby has on angels is sitting on the dining room table. Like, it’s suddenly important now.”

“Well, an angel pulled me out of hell. Of course I’m going to check it out; find some information on it.”

“But all of the sudden?” Damn you, Sam, always thinking too fucking much. “We’ve been to Bobby’s before last night, Dean, and you’ve never looked.”

“So you think that has something to do with me suddenly sleeping the whole night.”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Sam slouches back and stretches out his legs. “Is it Anna?”

“Is what Anna?”

“Is Anna helping you, sleep or whatever?”

“Don’t you think I would have told you if Anna showed up in all of her Graceful glory? That’s a pretty big deal.”

Sam moves to put his feet onto the dashboard and Dean smacks his knee.

“Dude, you fucking know better.” Because there’s no way he’s getting dirty footprints on his baby’s dash.

“Whatever, man.” Sam smacks him back, but he puts his feet down. “So, is it Castiel?”

“What the fuck?” Dean tries to sound natural and cool about it, as if he really is wondering why Sam would come to that conclusion, but fuck, this is _Sam_. Sam knows him better than anybody.

“It _is_ Castiel.” Sam sits up, eager and curious bastard that he is. “So what is he doing?”

“He’s just knocking me out, I guess,” Dean answers. He doesn’t find it necessary to remark on their connection or their show-and-tell hour last night.

“What does he do?”

“I swear to God, Sam, you’re like the modern day Spanish Inquisition.”

“Dude! You say we don’t really talk anymore, which frankly, we never did, but whatever. I’m trying to show an interest in what’s going on with you.”

“He just… touches my shoulder and next thing I know, it’s morning. Or afternoon.”

“Huh,” Sam says, like he finds that really fascinating, and Dean just wants to close his eyes and act like this conversation never happened. “You know when he knocked me out, he just touched my forehead.”

“And?”

“And it’s just really interesting that it’s different for you.”

“Of course it is. He didn’t drag you out of hell, Sam.”

“Right.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asks.

“Nothing.”

“Damn it, Sammy, what?” Dean takes a deep breath, because he is getting too worked up over this.

“I think that…” Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “I think that Castiel feels a little more towards you than just Guardian Angel and Ward.”

“ _What_?” God, why is he having this conversation?

“You ever see the way he looks at you? It’s like you’re the only thing standing on the earth. And you should have seen the look he gave you when you kissed Anna in front of him.”

“Like he was pissed that I was kissing a fallen angel?”

“No,” Sam says. “Like he was jealous. Like he wanted to be her. It was like… like he would fall in a heartbeat if he could be with you.”

The words nail straight into Dean’s chest, but he rolls his eyes. “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it’s not. You’re just freaked out because a guy has the hots for you.”

“He’s not a guy. He’s an angel,” Dean replies.

“He’s a _male_ ang—wait, wait. You’re defending it.”

“What?” Jesus Christ, he’s fucked now.

“His attachment to you.”

“Sam—”

“No, no, no. You like him don’t you?”

Dean runs his hand over his face and sighs. “I don’t know, man.”

“Holy shit, Dean.”

Dean pulls off onto the road’s shoulder before turning on the emergency lights.

“Look, if we’re going to talk about this, which I’d rather not but you’ll never leave it alone if we don’t, you can’t freak out on me. I’m freaking out enough as it is.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Sam turns toward Dean slightly. “So what happened?”

“Basically…” Dean takes a deep breath. “We have this connection because of him dragging me from the pit. So he’s trying to use his Grace to heal my soul, or whatever.”

“Is it working?”

“I don’t know. I guess. We’ve only done that once. Most of the time he puts me to sleep without me knowing about it.”

“Did you see him last night?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, hoping that’s a good enough answer.

“And?”

“And…” he sighs. “We went outside and I saw the real him.”

“The real him? As in his—”

“True form, yeah, but not entirely, because it started hurting too much.

“Sammy, I don’t even think… I think the reason I started feeling anything for him is because of how he feels about me. Because you’re right, he is always so intense when we’re around each other.”

“It’s got to be more than that, Dean. Think of all of those girls who fell all over you in high school who you never even looked at. Just because someone likes you doesn’t mean you like them back.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean whispers. He loves watching Castiel look at the world, questioning everything because he just doesn’t understand. He is one of the most powerful beings on the face of the earth, and though he walks among humans, they are so foreign to him. Dean thinks of the way Castiel looks at him, so mesmerized just by Dean being Dean, and Dean, well, he’s just as mesmerized by the angel if he lets himself admit it.

“So, what’s it like to see his true form?”

Dean pulls the Impala back on the road and cranks up Zeppelin again.

“It’s pretty awesome, man.”

///

Sam took the Impala to the library to research their case – a haunting in the local elementary school. Sam called, “Don’t wait up” when he closed the hotel room door, which has become code for, “going to fuck a demon.”

Or maybe Sam is just trying to give him some time to think or to have time alone with Castiel. That thought bothers Dean just the tiniest bit. He wonders if he will see the angel tonight, or if Castiel will just visit him in his sleep. He’s hoping for the former and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

Dean spends a couple of hours flipping through the channels and eating delivered General Tso’s chicken and a pint of fried rice. Midnight rolls around and there’s no sign of Sam or Castiel, so Dean decides to just lie down and try to sleep. He shucks off his jeans and t-shirt before climbing back into the bed.

Dean hates all of the nightmares, but he honestly hates it more when he thinks about hell outside of sleep. And lying in the quiet darkness always brings back memories of his time in the pit. Sometimes it’s as if Alistair is sitting in the room with him, telling him what a good job he’s doing with the souls. _”Sammy would be proud, Dean.”_ God, how many times did he hear that in the pit?

“Dean.”

Dean opens his eyes and sees Castiel, skin already glowing slightly as if he is testing the boundary of how far he can go.

“Hey,” Dean says, sitting up against the headboard.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah man, I’m fine.”

“I was worried to leave you last night after the way your body reacted.”

“You could have stayed,” Dean whispers. Dean meets Castiel’s eyes and holds his gaze. Dean gives him a small smile and the angel smiles back.

“I did for a while, until I heard your friend Bobby rouse upstairs.”

Dean nods and scoots over on the bed. “You can sit, Cas.” The angel moves next to him so that they are facing one another and their legs brush softly against each other.

“Castiel, you were… that was pretty fucking amazing.”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

“No, no. It was worth it, man.” Dean leans his head against the headboard. “I talked to Sam about what’s been happening.”

“Oh? Have you told him everything?” The soft light radiating from his body allows Dean to see Castiel’s eyes trained upon him. Sam’s right, it’s as if Dean is the only thing on the earth right now, and that makes him shiver.

“Not exactly,” Dean replies before reaching forward and brushing his lips softly against Castiel’s. The angel doesn’t move at first, probably too stunned that Dean Winchester is kissing him, and Dean wonders if he has ever been kissed before. Then Castiel’s mouth moves against his own and his hand reaches up to cup Dean’s face. He opens his lips and feels Castiel do the same before Dean’s tongue tentatively moves to stroke Castiel’s. Castiel melts into him, all pliable but strong, and it’s good, it really is. But… “Cas,” Dean breathes, pulling away.

“Is this okay?” Castiel asks, worry written all over his face.

“Yes, but,” Dean grabs the lapel of his trench coat, “this isn’t you. This is Bob or Frank or whatever your vessel’s name is. I don’t want him. I want… I want _you_.”

“You do?” And he seems so surprised that Dean would feel that way, which Dean supposes is a pretty normal reaction.

“Yeah. Take us some place. Let me see you.”

Suddenly Dean and Castiel are sitting on another bed, and Dean looks around. Wooden walls and floors make him thinks it’s a cabin, and the place looks too nice to be abandoned. He assumes that it is someone’s summer home or lake house.

“You going to break these people’s windows, Cas?” Dean asks with a grin.

“They are wealthy enough to afford the repairs.”

“Look at you: Angel of the Lord is being a little devious,” Dean teases. Castiel turns his eyes away as if a little embarrassed and Dean chuckles at him. Then the angel looks back, eyes serious and filled with longing and Dean stops laughing.

Castiel brings his hand up to Dean’s shoulder and instantly warmth seeps through his skin, but it’s different this time. It is still soothing and healing, but now it is edged with desire and want and Dean’s cock starts to harden from that sensation alone. Dean tilts his head back, breath and heartbeat picking up, and it’s so strange how the hand on his shoulder both calms him and burns him up at the same time. Then Castiel touches Dean’s face and turns it toward him.

The transition is quicker this time, because Castiel already knows that Dean can at least handle this much. He is already brighter than any light Dean has seen besides the sun, yet this time it doesn’t hurt at all, Castiel’s touch solidifying the link between them. Dean reaches out to touch his face, and the angel closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

Dean leans in slowly so that Castiel will not lose grip on his shoulder and kisses the angel forcefully, and his lips feel almost electric against his own. It feels so good that it’s dizzying, Castiel’s touch unearthly and foreign, and Dean just can’t get enough.

“Come on, Cas,” he whispers hoarsely against his lips. “I have to see them, have to feel them.” He sits back, and the angel looks upward as if willing the wings to reveal themselves, and then Dean sees them. He was right, black as the fucking night, but so much more amazing than Dean could have ever imagined. Castiel spreads his wings until they touch both of the walls, and Dean realizes for the first time that Castiel really is an extremely powerful being. And the thought that Castiel wants him burns pleasantly in his chest.

Castiel folds his wings back and Dean reaches out with both hands to slide along the feathers. They’re thick and soft, but Dean can tell that they’re strong as hell, and they’re not coming out unless Castiel wants them to. Dean ruffles them a bit, seeing threads of gold and silver throughout each one and the angel gasps, tilting his head back.

“Good?” Dean asks, voice shaky because he’s in fucking awe right now.

“Yes,” Castiel moans, using his true voice and it makes Dean shiver. It doesn’t hurt at all though. He slides his right hand along the top of edge of the wing bone, stroking it up and down softly.

“So this is all you?”

Castiel leans forward and kisses him softly. “Yes.”

Dean moves to his knees, sliding off his boxers before pressing against Castiel. The angel is naked before him, and Dean wonders if the vessel is hiding in there behind the light, but he doesn’t really care right now. He has dozens of questions to ask and he can ask them all later.

He presses both of their cocks together with one hand and brings Castiel’s left hand there too.

“Stroke with me,” Dean whispers, and he sets a rhythm for Castiel to match. The warmth seeping through the angel’s skin feels fucking amazing against his dick, and he worries for a second that his mere human hand can’t really do anything for the angel. He tightens his grip, moving a little faster, and the angel cries out, breaking the lone window in the room.

Dean leans his head against Castiel’s shoulder and kisses and sucks on Castiel’s jaw and neck. The hand on Dean’s shoulder tightens, and holy shit, Dean starts to feel not only his own pleasure but also Castiel’s. God, it feels so different from anything he has ever experienced, it’s foreign and a bit strange, but it burns through him like wildfire and he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Are you feeling me too?” Dean asks, gasping, because he’s getting close.

He feels Castiel nod against him. “Dean, you don’t know how much I lo—“

“Shh,” Dean brings his other hand to the angel’s lips while his left hand moves faster around their cocks. “I know, Cas. I can feel it.”

“I can feel it too.”

Dean closes his eyes, because he never tells people how he feels about them, and now his feelings are laid wide open for the angel to see. He feels vulnerable and a little scared, and he knows Castiel senses it by the reassuring stroke of his thumb on Dean’s shoulder.

His right hand moves to the feathers again, tugging against them hard, and Castiel moans his name deeply before spilling all over Dean’s hand and cock. The angel’s orgasm rips through him from the hand at his shoulder and Dean falls off the edge right after him, deep moans escaping his mouth as Castiel continues to slowly stroke him.

Dean lies all of his weight against Castiel, muscles weak and flimsy from his own orgasm and from experiencing Castiel’s. Castiel removes his hand from his shoulder, and Dean hears him whimper as if in pain when the connection is broken.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks.

“Are you?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I’m pretty awesome.”

“Then I am too.”

“You want to take us back?” Dean grabs his boxers and uses them to wipe the come off of both of them.

“Okay,” Castiel replies, and then they’re back in the hotel room.

Dean lies back onto the bed, looking up at Castiel whose eyes are roaming over Dean’s body. He is back to the vessel, full suit, tie, and trench coat ensemble, and Dean already misses the angel’s real form.

“I wish you didn’t have to be in this body all of the time. The world doesn’t know what it’s missing.”

“I don’t want the world to see me. My true form is for the heavens… and it is for you. That’s all, Dean.”

“Glad to know I rank with the heavens,” Dean smirks and Castiel smiles at him. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to fall for this, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No, Dean. I am not becoming human; I do not have to lose my grace to be with you. If I need to feel human emotions,” he touches the scar he left on Dean’s body in hell, “I can feel them right here.”

“Okay,” Dean breathes. He would never forgive himself if he took away Castiel’s angelic glory.

“You should go to sleep,” Castiel whispers.

“Can you stay this time?” God, Dean feels like such a girl right now.

“I can.” Castiel removes the coat, tie, and shirt before sliding next to Dean on the bed. Dean turns onto his side and he feels the angel move up against him before putting his arms around him.

“This is the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”

Castiel laughs. “Are you going to say that every night?”

“I don’t know… can’t get much gayer than this.” They lie there for a few minutes, and Dean’s mind keeps replaying what happened over and over as Castiel’s fingers move over his ribcage.

“Man, I could use some pie,” Dean says and Castiel laughs again before he puts Dean to sleep.

///

Dean wakes up, not feeling Castiel near him, and he reaches his hand out to see if he is there. He’s not, and Dean figures he was called away to work or fight. He smells coffee, but the room is dark because the curtains are still closed, so it’s not like Sam has come back yet. He turns the bedside lamp on, and looks down. There’s a slice of cherry pie and a cup of still-steaming coffee on the nightstand.

“Holy fuck,” Dean says, picking up the take-out container and taking a bite of the dessert. He moans at the flavor; it tastes exactly like the cherry pie from Belinda’s Diner in Nickleville, Georgia they had two years ago, and he realizes that it very well could be. He reaches for the coffee; lots of sugar, no cream, and Castiel is officially his favorite person.

“Hey,” Sam says as he comes through the door.

“Hey.” Dean takes another bite and closes his eyes.

“Oh, pie. I’m starving. Did you save me any?”

Dean eats the last bite. “Hell no.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean replies.

“So I’m guessing everything went pretty well last night.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, cherry pie is your ‘I just had a good lay’ pie, so I’m guessing you and Castiel worked things out.”

“You could say that.”


End file.
